The Little Brooklyn Bakery: A heartwarming feel good novel full of cakes and romance!

‘Oh Soph, sweetie. I wish I was there. I’m sorry.’ Kate held her hand over her mouth, her eyes semaphoring worry and concern. ‘You’re so far away. I wish I hadn’t encouraged you to go now.’

Sophie sucked in another breath, feeling it catch in her chest. She couldn’t do this to Kate. It wasn’t fair. With real effort, she forced a smile onto her face. ‘Kate Sinclair, don’t you dare start feeling guilty. I chose to come here. And I wanted to. I’m just feeling a bit sorry for myself tonight. You’re right. I haven’t been trying enough. I haven’t been trying at all. Must try harder. I promise this weekend I will go out and start exploring. And I’ll make a bit more effort at work to get to know a few people.’

Kate gave her a watery smile. ‘Atta girl. Sorry, I didn’t mean to nag. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too, but I promise I’m … or I will be OK. But you’re right. I’ve been hibernating. From now on, I’ll get out there.’

Sophie closed her eyes as she switched off her phone. Without Kate’s voice, the apartment felt alien and empty. It was far too soon to go to bed, which was what she did most nights when the loneliness got too much to bear. Although most nights she was still awake at eleven. Staring up at the ceiling. Wishing she could turn the clock back. But that was cowardly, and it couldn’t change what James had done. Being ignorant didn’t make it any better. Or remove all the lies.

There was a particular crack on the ceiling. It curved from the window to the corner of the room, widening at the two-thirds mark before narrowing and disappearing again. It had become a visual reminder of her battle to keep thoughts of James at bay, as if they were crowding behind that crack, trying to work their way through, and that’s when she had to work extra hard not to think of him. Not to think of all those evenings pottering happily in the kitchen, cooking special meals for him. Not to remember waking up in the mornings with his tousled dark head next to hers. Not to long for those evenings simply snuggled up on the sofa, slobbing out after work, watching some TV detective series they both enjoyed.

With a sigh, she stood up and tucked the phone in her pocket as she looked around the kitchen. Had Kate picked up on how spotless the place was? How unnaturally she’d overdone things the previous weekend when she’d binge-watched nineteen episodes of Friends.

Through the open window she could hear laughter floating up from the street, the pounding bass from a passing car, and smell the warm city air, a smoky mix of onions and diesel. Brooklynites had come out to play on Friday night. She stood by the window for a while, people watching. A group of young men in jeans, baggy T-shirts and back-to-front baseball caps walked together, nudging and teasing each other as they loped along the pavement, moving aside for single late returners from work, determinedly walking the last leg of their commute, bearing shopping bags like champions bringing home the bread. The cheerful noise and bustle below heightened her sense of aloneness and the paralysis that seemed to have set in, stopping her from leaving the apartment.

What she hadn’t told Kate was that she doubted her own judgement. It had proved so false, some days she found it impossible to make a decision. It wasn’t as if she’d even decided consciously to come to New York. There was no weighing up the pros and cons, examining what it would really entail. No, she’d grabbed at the offer, grasping it with desperate, greedy hands as if it were a life-raft amidst the storm of fear, rage and utter despair.

Just as she was about to shut the window, she heard a loud rattle from inside the building, followed by a bang, a crash and then a loud curse. ‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

Hurrying to her door, she opened it and ventured to the top of the stairs. In an ungainly tangle of limbs, Bella sprawled on the landing at the top of the next flight of stairs below. Sophie hurried down.

‘What happened?’ she asked as she helped Bella up.

Wide-eyed, Bella clutched her hand to her chest. She’d clearly given herself quite a fright. Sucking in a quick breath, she said, ‘Tripped on the last step. For a horrible darn minute, I thought I was going to take a header straight down.’ Bella’s lip quivered and she hauled herself to a seated position, rubbing at her knee. With a sniff she nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Sophie, feeling useless, standing over Bella.

‘I will b-be in a mo.’ She closed her eyes tight and carried on rubbing at her knee, her teeth gnawing at her lip. ‘I daren’t look. I’m trying to think really positive here, but right now I can’t think of a single angle. Are they all completely ruined?’

Sophie peered down at the frosting-spattered stairs. A rainbow of bright blobs of red, yellow, blue and green was liberally dotted everywhere. Paintball splats on virtually every tread.

‘Difficult to tell. Some of them … might … be salvageable.’ The doubt was clear in her voice. From here they looked pretty battered.

‘Aw, shit!’ Bella angrily dashed at the lone tear that escaped. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit. I just spent the last three hours icing six dozen of the little fuckers for an engagement party tomorrow, and now I’ve dropped half of them.’ She rested her head on her knees, hugging them, saying in a muffled voice, ‘I’m supposed to be delivering them before I open up tomorrow morning.’ She lifted her head, sniffing as more tears ran down her face. ‘I’m going to have to s-start over,’ her breath hitched, ‘and I’m … so tired.’ She burst into noisy sobs.

‘Hey, it’s alright.’ Even though she didn’t know Bella that well, Sophie sank down beside her on the top step and put her arm around her shoulder.

After several ragged breaths and discreet sniffs, Bella calmed down. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. I’m not a crier but … it’s been a tough one.’ She started to rise. ‘Aw, sheesh, look at the mess. What the hell am I going to do? It’s going to take forever to clean this up and then I’m going to have bake a new batch and let them cool before I can decorate them.’

Sophie put a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘Just take a minute.’

Together they surveyed the wreckage. ‘Rainbow cakes?’ asked Sophie.

‘Yeah, I’m starting to regret that now. I store commissions upstairs because there’s not enough room in the kitchen downstairs.’

‘Well, it makes for a good show,’ said Sophie, trying not to smile. There really was colour just about everywhere.

Bella let out a tiny giggle as together they surveyed the vibrant mess. ‘I never do anything by halves.’

‘Perhaps you’ve missed your calling. You could always take up interior decorating. It looks very colourful.’ Together they burst out laughing.

‘OK,’ said Sophie, suddenly feeling like her old self. ‘First things first. We identify all those that are salvageable. You can probably scrape off the icing and redecorate some of them.’

‘I dunno.’ Bella winced, her face already looking a bit brighter. ‘Some look pretty darned battered. It was one of those spectacular toss-’em-all-up-in-the-air babies.’ She shook her head, a couple of red curls escaping her scarf. ‘I guess I’m lucky I didn’t take a header after them.’

‘Why don’t you sit down, have a coffee and a rest? You look quite shaken up and you probably want some ice on that knee. And then I can start cleaning up down here and we can make a plan. I can help. Be your assistant. And with two of us, it’ll be a lot easier.’

Bella stopped and looked back up the stairs. ‘It’s Friday night? Aren’t you on your way out somewhere?’

‘No. Thought I’d have a night in.’ Sophie’s smile was so brittle, she wondered if her face might crack.

‘Normally I’d say no, it’s fine, but I’m so pooped, I could really use the help. But I … I can’t let you clean up.’

‘Yes, you can,’ said Sophie with a determined glint in her eye. ‘Leave it to me. Give me that tray, and have you got a bin bag?’

Sophie helped Bella hobble up to her flat and settled her in a seat, with a bag of frozen corn on her knee. Bella’s flat was similar in layout to the one below, except it had a ladder reaching up to the ceiling in the kitchen and a lot of empty shelves, with plastic cupcake holders.

‘I normally transport the cakes in those, but they only hold a dozen and I was being lazy and trying to do one trip down the stairs, so I put them on a tray. Serves me right.’

Bella pointed her in the direction of cleaning cloths, and Sophie carried a washing-up bowl down the stairs to deal with the mess. As she scooped up the random dollops of buttercream, she smiled to herself. This was not the most glamorous way of spending Friday night, but it beat not having anything to do.

Half an hour later, Sophie had just about finished when Bella came hobbling down the stairs clutching a bottle of wine and two glasses.

‘What’s the damage?’ asked Bella wearily as she stood on the last step. ‘I brought vital supplies.’ She held up the bottle.

With a frown, Sophie indicated the tray to her left on the hall console table. ‘Ten can be re-done. But the rest are goners, I’m afraid.’

‘Sheesh, that bad. It’s gonna be a late one. Although dinner’s sorted. As much as you can eat mashed-up cake.’ She grabbed one of the cakes. ‘If you scrape the dust off.’

Sophie grinned. ‘I already ate, but for wine, I’m happy to stay, help and be your sous chef.’

‘Are you sure? It’s Friday evening and the night’s still young. I’m plain sad, there’s no need for you to be too.’

Sophie responded with a shrug and a half-laugh. ‘It’s not like I’m doing anything else tonight.’

Bella gave her a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Sorry I’ve been mega-busy. I should have been more neighbourly and been in to say hi. You’ve been here two weeks. I can’t believe that. But it’s gone so darned fast. Come on.’ She waved the bottle and glasses and led the way through a side door. ‘This takes us straight into the kitchen. I keep thinking that maybe I should have gone into catering. Someone said to me last week that’ – she bookmarked with her fingers – ‘“Cupcakes are so last year and wedding cakes are too specialised.” There’s more money in general catering – you know, finger food and buffets. But seriously, what would you rather have? A great big sugar-kiss delivered in a little work of art in a cupcake case, or a chicken drumstick in sesame and soy? No one ever said, Let them eat chicken, did they?’

Sophie laughed. ‘True.’

‘And there’s something about a cake. It says love. It says sugary yumminess. It’s like a tiny hand-held hug. Cakes are for Christmas, celebrations, holidays and birthdays. Weddings. For happy, happy days. That’s why I love making them. The world needs more happiness.’

Sophie smiled, thinking of Kate and their friend, Eva, back home. ‘Someone once told me that things taste better when they’re made with love.’

Bella clapped her hands together. ‘I love that. It’s so true. Especially when you’re making a wedding cake. Cutting the cake is the first thing a married couple do jointly. It symbolises their partnership.’

‘I’d never thought of it like that. That’s lovely …’ Sophie paused, trying not to let the familiar sense of bitterness take hold. It was a constant presence lurking on the edge of her consciousness, just waiting for a chance to dig in and take over. ‘If it works out.’

‘Oh dear. Are you divorced?’

‘No, single. Very single. And staying that way for the foreseeable future.’

‘Bad break-up?’ asked Bella, wincing sympathetically.

‘Something like that,’ sighed Sophie.

‘I’m not sure what’s worse. Having someone to break up with or not quite getting there.’

Sophie raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Bella looked stubborn for a minute. ‘There’s someone I’m interested in but he’s too stupid to live.’

Sophie flinched and took a sudden interest in the kitchen work surfaces. She wasn’t sure she could cope with anyone else’s emotional distress at the moment. Thankfully Bella didn’t say any more and turned her attention to the wine bottle, pouring two hefty glasses of white wine.

‘Gosh, this is lovely.’ Sophie turned around.

Opposite her there was an oak dresser which was filled, no not filled, rammed with a massive variety of different china plates. There was no discernible theme to the display of plates on the narrow upper shelves, which featured umpteen different shapes and a dazzling array of styles: retro fifties block patterns, vintage florals, stark contemporary designs – all bundled together in a rainbow of colours where emerald green rubbed shoulders with peacock blue, vivid pinks, pristine white and scarlet. There were more plates in teetering stacks on the open shelves below.

Following Sophie’s gaze, Bella shrugged. ‘I collect plates. You never know what you’ll need for a display.’

Next to the dresser was a floral sofa that looked as if, once you sat in it, it might be hard to escape from, a wooden coffee table piled with papers and magazines, and a couple of plain pink velvet armchairs.

All this should have looked incongruous against the stainless-steel benches and modern glass-fronted fridges on the opposite side, but those were also filled with colour and shape, so the two sides worked together. Bella clearly liked a bit of colour. The benches were dotted with bright utensil pots filled with china cake slices, wooden spoons and whisks.

Sophie felt herself relax. Kitchens were good places to be. You knew where you were in them. There was something safe and reassuring about knowing that when you were baking, if you added the right quantities and the right ingredients, and did the right things, you’d know what you’d get. A well-stocked and well-resourced kitchen like this was like coming home.

‘Cheers,’ said Bella, holding up her glass.

‘Cheers.’

They chinked glasses.

‘Thanks, Sophie. I really appreciate this.’

‘I haven’t done anything yet.’

‘Aside from cleaning up. And offering moral support.’

Sophie looked around the kitchen. ‘So, what would you like me to do?’

‘First, I need to get cracking on making a new batch of cakes. So, if you can be my go-to girl on weights and measures and weigh out all the fixings, that would be awesome. My basic recipe is here.’ She pointed to a laminated sheet pinned to a pin-board. ‘Scales over there. Sticks of butter in the fridge. Dry goods in the pantry. Eggs on the shelf. Thank goodness I stocked up this week.’

Thanks to her crash course in conversion over the last two weeks, Sophie had got a handle on things and knew that a stick of butter equated to half a cup of butter or four ounces in English measurement, so she set to following Bella’s swift instructions to assemble all the ingredients beside a professional Kitchen Aid.

‘I’ve got one of these at home,’ said Sophie, stroking the smart red enamel like a pet.

‘Silly me, I completely forgot you’re a foodie. You can cook then.’

‘Just a bit,’ said Sophie, laughing.

‘You can make the batter, while I mix up a new batch of frosting and re-ice these ones.’

‘I was going to ask you if I could watch you one day. I’m working on a feature on afternoon tea, English style, and I wanted to make some cupcakes and come up with some autumn, I mean fall, themed toppings.’

‘Ooh, I’d love to help. Fall leaf colours would be good. I could do a seasonal display. I’d have to think flavours.’

‘Ginger. You could make parkin cakes.’

‘Parkin?’

Sophie explained what it was. Soon the two of them were bouncing cake recipe and ideas back and forth, and by the time the first batch of cakes came out of the oven they’d drunk most of the bottle of wine.

When the second batch of cakes went in, they sank to the floor, clutching their glasses with the very last dregs of the wine. In tired silence, they watched the cakes in the oven slowly rise and turn golden.

Sophie sighed and took a last sip of wine. ‘There’s nothing quite like that moment when the cake goes pouf over the top of its case. It makes me feel like there’s some sense in the world. All’s well when it does what it’s supposed to.’

‘I’d never thought of it like that, but you’re right. There’s nothing quite like that moment. Pouf.’ Bella waved her wineglass at Sophie. ‘Pouf is the perfect word. Although why we are sitting here when I have a perfectly good sofa over there, is bonkers.’ She awkwardly raised herself to her feet and hobbled over to one of the pink armchairs, lowering herself gingerly and putting her bad leg on the messy table. Sophie followed and sank into the sofa opposite.

‘Sophie, you’re a godsend. I think if it hadn’t been for you I would have wept hysterically on the stairs for the whole night.’

‘Your knee not so good?’ Even from the sofa Sophie could see that Bella’s injured knee was almost double the size of the other.

‘No. It’s sore. And very stiff. Shit, I hope I can drive tomorrow.’ Bella leaned over and prodded it. ‘It’s very swollen. I can hardly bend it.’

‘Is there anyone else who could help deliver them? Could you put them in a taxi?’

‘Not really. To be honest, it’s a two-man job. I need someone to hang onto the boxes. I usually ask my friend Wes, but …’ she tightened her lips, ‘I was going to ask you if you could help out.’

‘Course, I don’t mind. I’d offer to drive but …’ she pulled a face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been behind the wheel of a car. Living in central London, she used public transport all the time.

Bella winced and looked at her watch. ‘I can try calling the cavalry … see if Todd’s available. What’s the chance of him being around on a Friday night?’

‘Slim,’ suggested Sophie. ‘In fact, I’d say given that I’ve been fielding his calls all week from a stream of lovely girls, he’s bound to be out on a hot date.’

She’d already decided he was like Macavity, the Mystery Cat – i.e. never there. Certainly not at his desk when she was in the office, although there were definite signs of habitation. Usually empty coffee cups and cookie crumbs. The switchboard kept putting his calls through to her extension and she’d been the recipient of several very perky, friendly repeat calls from women trying to track him down. To be fair – and that was one of Sophie’s strengths, she was exceedingly good at being fair – the women were always absolutely charming and, rather bafflingly, completely understanding about his failure to return their calls.

‘Aw, poor Todd. He’s so busy. If you could tell him that Lacey called again, I’d be grateful.’ Poor Todd. Poor Lacey, more like. She’d called four times this week. While Cherie with the lisp had called three times and high-pitched, giggly Amy twice.

‘Well, I’ll have to call him,’ said Bella, wiping at her forehead with her arm, leaving a streak of flour across her face. ‘I can’t think of anyone else with a car.’

She tapped her fingers on her phone screen. To Sophie’s surprise, the phone only rang twice and then she heard Todd answer.

‘Hey Todd.’

‘Hey Bellabella. What you up to?’

‘Having a disaster. I need your help.’

‘Shoot.’

‘Would you be able to help with a delivery tomorrow morning? I need to get six dozen cupcakes over to the other side of Greenpoint.’

Sophie waited, expecting a slew of questions and excuses.

‘Sure. What time?’

‘Early, I’m afraid. I said I’d get them there for eight because I thought I’d need to get back to open the shop. My Saturday girls don’t start until ten. It’s a bit late to phone the client and change the arrangements now.’ Bella winced.

‘No problem. I’ll be there at seven. You’d better have a coffee ready.’

‘Todd, you’re an angel.’

‘Does that mean I qualify for a lifetime supply of heavenly cupcakes?’

‘You bet. See you tomorrow.’

‘Laters.’

Bella turned to Sophie. ‘He’s a star. So will you go with him? Sorry, you’ve probably got plans.’

‘Of course I can help.’

‘And you should be finished by nine.’

Great. That just left the rest of the day to fill.

Chapter 6

‘Hey English,’ said Todd, immediately stepping forward and relieving her of the first box of cupcakes. He had that healthy, wholesome glow of a character from a TV ad, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, in a crisp white cotton button-down-collar shirt and denim shorts which showed off perfectly even-tanned legs.

She wasn’t sure why she had, but thank goodness she’d washed her hair, blow dried it into soft curls for a change and put on some make-up. She didn’t feel like a bag lady next to him. Even better that she’d put on her favourite cobalt-blue linen shirt that did wonders for her eyes and cut-off shorts that showed off her legs, which apart from her hair (on the days like today, when it behaved itself) were definitely her best attribute.

Not that, scrubbed up, she came anywhere close to matching his golden beauty. No wonder he had a harem of women panting down the phone to speak to him.

‘Morning Todd.’ She was deliberately brisk. The stupid sudden fluttering in her chest could just back off. Hormones had a lot to answer for. That must be it. Normal healthy response. She was not the sort of girl who had crushes. She was far too sensible, and after James, a relationship-free bastion of singledom.

‘How many boxes have we got?’ He grinned, eyes twinkly and direct. The flutter intensified and she had to suck in an extra breath.

‘J-just another two.’ She shot him a perfunctory, polite, see-your-thousand-watt-charisma-has-no-effect smile in response.

‘Cool.’ His grin didn’t so much as dim. ‘My car’s in a no-waiting area around the corner. You can’t miss it.’ He was already heading off down the street, calling over his shoulder. ‘I’ll take these if you can bring the others.’

She took a steadying breath, watching him as he strode off. God, he had a nice backside. Broad shoulders, tapering down to a trim waist and that … yeah, that backside. What the hell was wrong with her? Objectifying the poor man. She gave herself a stern mental shake.

She marched back into the kitchen to grab the last two boxes.

‘Here’s the receipt. You need to give it to the customer. They’ve already paid. Good luck and don’t take any risks. Make sure Todd drives like an old lady. I feel this batch is jinxed.’

‘Bella, don’t worry. I’ll guard them with my life.’ They exchanged knowing smiles. They’d finally finished very late the night before.

Carrying the two boxes, she rounded the corner and nearly stopped dead. Todd was right, you couldn’t miss his car. So much for the assumption he’d be a BMW or Mercedes type of man. She had to slow her steps down, while she schooled her face. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings but it took a second or two to mask her surprise. This car was a mess, without doubt the scruffiest, tattiest thing she’d ever seen. And so not Todd, who usually rocked the preppy look with his crisp chino shorts and perfectly pressed linen shirts. The ancient Golf had a huge dent in the driver’s door, the bumper at the back was missing and the panel of the rear door was bright blue, in ugly contrast to the dark racing-green paintwork of the rest of the car. As she neared she could see that the paintwork on the bonnet had bubbled with pale craters, looking like skin peeling after a nasty case of sunburn.

‘Interesting car,’ she said straight faced, handing the boxes over to him. Despite the distraction of the car, she was still unable to stop herself ogling his pert bottom as he leant into the rear seat to stow them next to the others.

When he turned back to her his face danced with mischievous wickedness. ‘Pisses the hell out of my dad when I go home and park it on the drive. Lowers the tone of the neighbourhood.’

She laughed. ‘I bet it does. I don’t want to be rude, but this would lower the tone of a rubbish tip.’ She shot the wheels a dubious look. ‘Does it actually work or is it like Fred Flintstone’s car and we have to run?’

‘I’ll have you know, Gertie …’ he paused and patted the car door, ‘is a loyal if occasionally temperamental old girl. She doesn’t like winter mornings, but then who does?’